


Feuerball

by The_Disaster_Tiefling (Akiko_Natsuko)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Memories, Panic, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 05:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19266994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/The_Disaster_Tiefling
Summary: 'The world was starting to shrink around him, pressing against his skin until it felt like he was burning and freezing beneath the pressure it. That was when it splintered. Cracks spreading through his thoughts until he could only grasp the tiniest of pieces, and those shards burned beneath his touch, a wildfire that couldn’t be forgotten. Light them up pretty…My Bright Bren…Firecracker… Flickers of fires, flames dancing in front of his eyes, sparks on his fingers. They pressed in on him, as vivid as the day they’d happened, scorched into his memory, and the cracks spread further, leaving him with no idea what was past or present.'The Fireball that Nott unintentionally unleashed on them in the cave, has more of an impact on Caleb than any of them were prepared for.





	Feuerball

   The world was starting to shrink around him, pressing against his skin until it felt like he was burning and freezing beneath the pressure it. That was when it splintered. Cracks spreading through his thoughts until he could only grasp the tiniest of pieces, and those shards burned beneath his touch, a wildfire that couldn’t be forgotten. _Light them up pretty…My Bright Bren…Firecracker…_ Flickers of fires, flames dancing in front of his eyes, sparks on his fingers. They pressed in on him, as vivid as the day they’d happened, scorched into his memory, and the cracks spread further, leaving him with no idea what was past or present.

“Caleb?” There was a voice, one that didn’t belong amongst the crackle of flames filling his head, and he blinked, panic clawing at him. She couldn’t be here. He would hurt her. Burn her…but hadn’t he already burned her? There were sparks on his fingers again, a fireball cast without his will, and a wall of flames springing up as her words were twisted into a threat. “Hey, Caleb? Caleb?” There was pressure around his waist now. Real. Grounding. It tugged him back, yanking him away from the shards, and he blinked again, slow and heavy, the present slamming back into him in an assault of sensations.

Movement beneath him, the familiar lolloping pace of Jannick.

The breeze against his face, reminding him that they’re fleeing across the Barbed Fields.

Warm arms around his waist, a pressure against his back.

“B…” He tries to say, catching a flicker of blue out of the corner of his eye. However, his voice catches and breaks, the sound lost beneath the wind and rhythmic pounding of the Moorbounder’s feet against the ground.  

    The pressure has shifted now, settling on his chest. A leaden weight, that presses, stealing his breath. Or maybe it’s because he can’t breathe because now that he’s aware of the dull ache in his chest, he realises that he can’t draw in enough air. The arms around him tighten again, and he can hear Beau’s voice again, dropping into the soft voice that she adopts when the past is clawing at him, but he can’t hear the words. White noise flooding his ears, and he wants to cry because it sounds just how the flames had sounded that fateful night, a dull roaring that he can’t escape.

He feels sick.

     The arms disappear, and then there are hands brushing against his as she takes the reins, making no effort to remove his white-knuckled grip. She’s speaking again, not to him, and there’s a strange mixture of fear and command in her voice, and he blinks, feels as though he should do something to ease that. But he can’t breathe, and he can’t talk…and the world is still splintered, flickers of flames still dancing across his vision. Then they’re coming to a halt, and in some distant part of his mind, he realises that was what she had been doing, that she had been trying to get Jannick to halt. He knows that he should be grateful, but all he can focus on now is that they’ve stopped and that he needs to get away, and perhaps Beau realises because she doesn’t reach out to stop him when he slithers clumsily out of the saddle.

     His legs barely catch him, trembling beneath his weight, and how he manages to stagger away from them without falling, he has no idea. His vision is blurring, and he can’t see the world around him, can’t see where he’s going. Can’t see anywhere that will offer him shelter from the memories, and his panic is rising, lungs burning for air, but he can’t breathe. He can’t… He notices movement behind him and flinches, squeezes his eyes shut and keeps moving needing to get away, even as some part of him realises that this isn’t something he can escape from. He’s cold despite the flames licking at his skin, and he’s clawing at his arms now, desperately searching for some kind of sensation to keep the fire at bay.

     Then his legs give way beneath him, and he stumbles and falls to his knees. He’s doubled over, and he vomits violently as everything bubbles up at once. It hurts, burning him up from the inside, and tears are streaming down his cheeks at this point, as the fire spreads from the inside out, leaving him feeling as though he is the one on fire. That is better than the others being on fire because of him, he thinks briefly, before even that is lost beneath the flames. He still can’t breathe, and he feels as though he’s going to fall. To collapse right where he is, and part of him welcomes the idea.

“Caleb?”

     Beau is there again, and he can vaguely make out other voices around them and her replying, but the words are lost to him. He does note that the others move away until the only sound he can hear is Beau’s light footsteps moving towards him. He wants to tell her to leave, to get away before the flames consume her too, but the words still won’t come and then she’s there, her hand strangely gentle as it comes to rest on his shoulder. It’s a balm, soothing the flames gripping him, as though she had splashed water over him and he’s not strong enough to stop himself from leaning into the touch, even with the fear still gripping him. “I’m here,” she murmurs, not wasting her breath to tell him that it’s okay, or that it’s going to be okay, realising that he won’t or rather can’t believe her at the moment, and then she’s pressing closer, awkwardly wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.

      Her weight against his back is grounding, soothing in a way that he would never have expected and her warmth seeps into him, cresting over the flames and chasing them away and just like that he can breathe again. A choked noise rising in his throat as he desperately gulps in much-needed air, leaning back into her. “I am sorry…” He doesn’t know why he’s apologising, just that he needs to say the words, or maybe he doesn’t because she’s growling something under her breath and shifting them into a more comfortable position, away from the vomit, and allowing him to slump bonelessly against her.

“You don’t need to apologise, you know, that right?” Beau demands, a trickle of impatience breaking through the soothing tone she had adopted, and it’s so Beau that he wants to weep. He already is, he realises belatedly, as his fond huff catches on a sob. Now that he’s aware of it, he can feel the tears on his cheeks, the broken, pitiful noises bubbling up in his throat, but he cannot stop it. Begins to shake under the force of his sobs, and the unsteady breaths he gasps in between, and his whole body seizes, burning in a completely different way as his muscles lock up under the strain he’s put on his body until every little movement hurts. “Easy, easy…” She sounds a bit out of her depth as she tries to comfort him, and he hopes that she knows how much she is helping him right now. How much her efforts mean to him and curses his voice for being still refusing to cooperate.

    They sit like that for a couple of minutes, and Caleb is aware of her hand moving down his back, slow, soothing strokes that pause whenever his breath threatens to catch again, encouraging him to breathe again, because the sensation is helping. It’s giving him something beyond the burn of his own body and the flames of his memories to focus on. He can’t stop shaking, though. Can’t escape the flames, and even as he tries to focus on Beau’s touch, on her soothing presence, the words that he can’t quite understand, but can feel battling the white noise in his ears, and a raw sob tears itself free of its lips, because he will never free of this.

He shouldn’t be free of this.

He…

“Hey now,” Caduceus’ voice, as slow and easy as though this was an everyday occurrence cut through the rising resurgence of his panic, and Caleb blinked, startled to find the Firbolg crouched on his other side, watching him with worried eyes. “Hey there, Mr Caleb. How are you doing?” It’s so ridiculous in the midst of everything that Caleb can’t help but chuckle, a raw, broken sound that sounds more like a sob than anything, but thankfully the Cleric seemed to realise what it was supposed to be because he smiled. “That’s it, just you relax a little and breathe.” It’s easier than it should be to obey the gentle command, to lean into Beau’s hold as she pulls him closer, and he’s aware of them speaking, talking amongst themselves, but he doesn’t try to follow the conversation. Instead, he just focuses on taking one steadying breath after another, the ache in his chest easing up, even as the rest of his body continues to throb, muscles still tense.

“I am sorry…” He didn’t mean to say it, and somehow, he’s not surprised when Beau curses beside him, waits for her to lambast him for unnecessary apologies, but then Caduceus is there, closing the last couple of feet between them and setting a warm hand on his other shoulder\

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” There’s a brief glow around his hand, warmth bleeding down into Caleb and suffusing his body. It’s like being wrapped in the softest, warmest blanket imaginable, and while it doesn’t ease all his discomfort, it makes it a little easier to breathe, a little easier to feel as though he might come through it. “That’s it, Mr Caleb.”

“T-thank you,” he manages to whisper a few minutes later, feeling suddenly exhausted. Too tired to cry or panic any longer, reaching up with a shaking hand to swipe clumsily at his face, only for Beau to click her tongue and take over, pulling her sash off to wipe away the evidence of his tears. “Both of you…” He adds, hopelessly fond as he bows to her ministration. He half expects her to scoff or blow him off, awkward beneath his thanks, and he can see it in her expression for a moment before she sighs, lips quirking slightly.

“You’re welcome.”

“Here,” Caduceus murmurs and Caleb turns to look at him, blinks at the water flask being held out to him and tries to reach for it with trembling fingers, only for the Firbolg to shake his head and pull it out of reach. “Let me help, you’re likely to spill it.” Gentle, taking any notion of rebuke out of the words, and Caleb is too tired to argue, nodding his agreement. The first mouthful he swills around and spits out, mindful of his friend’s, trying to wash the foul taste from his mouth. The next he tries to gulp down, only for Caduceus to caution him to slow down, pulling it away until the wizard limited himself to small sips.

    It’s overwhelming in a good way the care they’re showing him, Caduceus pulling the flask away when he’s finally drunk his fill, only for Beau to reach for it. And he blinks when rather than drinking she splashes the remaining water onto her sash, dampening it, and then wiping it across his face, erasing the last of the evidence of his breakdown. He doesn’t argue, can’t argue, leaning into them both, and just breathing. He feels tired, and weak, and strangely hollow although he knows the flames are still there, just waiting for the right moment to consume him again, and even with them by his side he’s half tempted to let them.

“What happened?” As though she had sensed where his thoughts were going, Beau spoke up, her voice drawing him back to the present. “You were fine earlier.” It’s not an accusation, but he flinches all the same and looks away. Looks across at where the others are waiting, gathering around the restless Moorbounders and trying to pretend as though they weren’t closely watching what was going on, that Fjord’s hand on Nott’s shoulder was just comfort rather than trying to hold the little Goblin back, and looking at her he took a shuddering breath.

“The b-box…”

“The one that Nott opened?” Caduceus asked, as beside him Beau mind a strangled noise of realisation before her grip tightened, hard enough for him to look at her, unprepared for the fierce gaze that met his shaky one.

“That wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t your fire!”

“This time…”

    That was the crux of it he realised. He had known that it wasn’t his flames this time, and yet that familiar flash, and the sound of his friends’…no his family’s voices raised in pain and alarm, had been too familiar. Too close. Dredging up too many memories, and he’d tried to ignore it, to focus on identifying their loot, and the path ahead, and instead, he had allowed it to climb higher until it had consumed him. Until he had endangered them all, because here they were, out in the open and vulnerable because of him.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, beginning to tremble again, a pained groan escaping as it reignited his tense muscles. “I’m sorry…I…”

“Okay, enough of that now.” He wanted to bristle at the parental tone that Caduceus had adopted, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t bring himself to speak up in protest as they both pressed close again, Beau back to hugging him awkwardly, and Caduceus’ hand a warm, steadying presence on his shoulder. “This wasn’t your fault, and you certainly have nothing to apologise for. The past doesn’t like to let go of people without a fight…”

    Caduceus glanced back towards the group and Caleb couldn’t help but follow his gaze, even though he’d known that was what the Firbolg had intended, understanding blossoming as his gaze passed over Fjord who was still trying to find the answers to what had happened to him, and where he was going. To Nott, who had come so far despite what had been done to her. To Yasha who was so similar to him in many ways that it hurt, whose past was kept trapped beneath the pages of a book and threatening to rear its head as they pressed further into her country. To Jester, who had grown and changed so much, and yet still remained true to who she had always been, and his breath caught. An audible sound that had Caduceus turning back to him with a warm smile. “We’re not expecting you to just forget the past, and we know that moment’s like this will happen…” Caleb didn’t deserve them, he really didn’t, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from pressing closer to the warmth they were both offering him, so different from the flames that had been consuming him. “We just want you to let us help.”

“Even Beauregard…?” He manages to ask, hoping that it sounds as teasing as he had meant it to, even though his voice still sounds hollow in his own ears. However, it must have worked because there’s a choked noise from the monk before she punches him lightly in the shoulder, thumb soothing over the spot she’d hit in apology to his still tense muscles.

“Even me, you jerk,” she mutters, with the same fondness that he feels. “And for that, you’re letting me steer for the rest of the journey.” They both know that he wasn’t in any state to handle Jannick at the moment, and she still managed to make it sound like an order and a threat at the same time, and he managed a weary smile in her direction, as the last of the knot in his chest came undone.

“Whatever you say, Beauregard…”


End file.
